To Die With Pleasure
by TemptressOfTheSouthernIsles
Summary: "Her eyes go blank, her emotions flatten into a thin, undefined line, and she drops the blanket from her body. She allows herself to be scooped up by her mother, and then, she's thrown on the bed." The Queen of Arendelle implements sexual abuse on her daughter as a way of controlling her ice powers.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Rape/incest warning.

This was a prompt given to me on tumblr. A PROMPT. "Write a one-shot about Elsa being **sexually abused** by the queen. Anna finds out, and the girls have to figure out what to do." I mean, it's worth a try. This is actually going to be two chapters. I don't have the mental energy to make this a one-shot. Chapter two will be up soon.

* * *

"Elsa, come to mother."

It is the sentence Elsa dreads - the sentence that immediately sends unrelenting chills through her spine. It comes to her at the time it usually does, which is after dinner, when Papa is shut away in his study hall, papers from distant kingdoms scattered across his desk, and the castle's guards are busy occupying the lower levels of the manor, cleaning and shutting down the premises for the night.

But in Elsa's dark, mirror-blue bedroom, which is connected to the King and Queen's master bedroom by a door in the wall, Elsa is preparing herself.

"Conceal, don't feel." And then she's frightened by the sound of her own voice, how shaggy and strange it sounds through the air.

She's coming to mother.

"Oh, my snowbug," the Queen says. She's seated on the corner of the bed, supporting herself up by slender arms. Her soft eyes land on Elsa's face: Elsa's young, pale face.

Elsa is malnourished, and her eyes are sunken in. Her lips are twitching. Her eyes stare at the floor. It's never anything _but_ the floor for her. She feels the force of her mother's gaze and the threat that it carries. The tips of her fingers give birth to hard, intricate patterns of frost.

It's the only time the cold bothers her.

* * *

It's later on that same night.

"Elsa?"

Anna's scruffy voice reverberates against the door. There's no response - although, honestly, she wasn't expecting one. Not anymore. She's thirteen years old. Her sister's phantom presence has become a normality in the castle, and nobody, not even the guards, talk about Elsa anymore. No more of the, "Where's your sister been hiding?" questions, followed by jaunty winks and unknowing grins. It's over now, and the interest has faded. But despite this, she still clings to a small, false hope; a hope promising her that one day, the white-blue door will open, and _she_ will appear, smiling that familiar, sly smile.

"Elsa, I know you're a little too old for this, but - do you want to come out and play?"

She sighs, letting her body drop straight to the floor. "I'll be out here," she adds irrelevantly, rubbing an eye. The summer moonlight from the hallway's window washes over her body, spotlighting the growing veins on her thin legs. She's getting tall, and her voice is changing. She wonders how much Elsa's changed.

She makes a hard yawn, smacking her lips, and then she's crashed. Purring through a heavy, drowsy sleep on the thin carpet lining the hall. One hand outstretches toward the door, fingers sprawled out in a zany fashion.

Within the first few snores, the white-blue door cracks open, and Elsa's slipping into the hall. Because what Anna doesn't know, can't hurt her.

The blonde creeps forward. She's clad in nothing but a blue quilt, which is tightly wrapped around her body, starting at the shoulders and falling down to her knees. Her bare skin underneath the blanket is cool. She's only wearing the piece as a precaution, in case a promiscuous guard happens to come by. She never did comprehend how folks could stand to wear layers of clothing throughout Arendelle's sweltering summertime heat.

She's in front of her sister now. Her adorable, sweet-smelling sister. She tilts her head, perplexed by the strange hue of skin fixed on the strawberry-blonde's squished faced: Anna's freckled cheeks are reddish-pink, somewhat glowing. Elsa shakes her head, beginning to smile.

"She's got a sunburn," she whispers. The words barely go beyond her lips. She's interested, for she's never seen one before.

But her smile falters. She remembers sunburns. Recollects the information that she had read in the castle's library. Remembers that they're painful, annoying. And she knows the cure for them is on her fingertips.

She squats on her legs, causing a gust of warm air to raise the blanket and expose her thighs. She reaches her hand forward and initiates the magic on Anna's cheek; the frost shoots outward delicately, like mist, and fogs over the freckled skin. A few seconds pass. Elsa's breathing hitches - she's afraid Anna will awaken. Afraid of all the chaos that would ensue. All the questions, even a possible trip back to the trolls. What if the frost goes straight through her skull?

But Anna's slumber ensues without interruption. Her face's redness simmers down into the mild skin tone that once was there.

Elsa smiles. But the real love is present in her eyes. They're crinkling at the corners, nearly watering.

"I love you, Anna." Another whisper.

* * *

The Queen lies in bed. Stretched out, body bare. She knows what she wants. She knows what will please her.

The King lies beside her. Sleeping soundly. Bare-chested, but wearing trousers. His rusty mustache seems to twitch in the dark lighting of the room. One arm is tucked under a pillow; the other's wrapped around the shared blanket, showcasing its muscular content.

He will not please her. But she know what will.

She moves out of bed, quietly and swiftly. She makes no noise. Not even a creak in the mattress. Which is the perks of being slender, as her mother would always say.

As she moves across the bedroom, she catches sight of her naked self in the mirror. She's beautiful, and curvy, and all of those wonderful things. Her dark hair is done up in her signature braided-bun. Her nipples are turning hard in the cold air.

Wait - _cold air!_

She closes her eyes, mouth forming a firm line. She's angry. Angry because she knows what she's going to have to do. There's a cold draft in the middle of an Arendelle heat wave. It has to be Elsa.

In a matter of seconds, she's gone through the adjoined door and is standing in Elsa's room.

"Elsa, come to mother."

Elsa's still wearing her blanket. She's standing, _no_ - she's trembling, watching her mother as she's back against the wall near her bed. Fear dictates her expression.

"You have to learn to control it," the Queen is saying. She comes near the blonde, shoulders erect and eyebrows furrowed in anger. "I felt the chill in the air. You may think I don't notice when it gets out of hand, but I do."

Elsa's staring at the floor. A small flurry of snowflakes form on the large window near the right of her. Her fists wind up, but she does nothing. Feels nothing.

"Why can't you be more like Anna?" the Queen's directly in front of her oldest daughter now. She reaches forward and grabs the blonde by the shoulders, fingernails digging into her collarbone tissue. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, Elsa."

Elsa whispers something in response. It's inaudible.

"What was that?" the Queen demands. She tightens her grip. Her lips are fixed in a nasty sneer. "Speak up. You know how I hate when you mumble."

"I said," Elsa looks up, meeting eyes with her mother, "don't talk about Anna."

There's a defiance in Elsa's expression. A new strength welling up. And also, a small blush in her cheeks.

The queen blinks. She's surprised, no doubt. Elsa's always been under her control; she's always been under her submission. This act of rebellion unsettles her. It gives her a bad feeling, like she's out of control. It threatens her.

So she slaps Elsa.

It takes Elsa a second to recompose herself. She flicks her head forward to face her mother. It's hard to ignore the fresh pain in her cheekbone; it's stinging, aggravating. And the emotions inside are building up. But she can't feel them - because she's not supposed to feel them - and it's hard to recognize which emotions are which. Sadness. anger, or hatred? Or _all_ of them?

In the midst of her affliction, there's one thing she's certain of: _I won't let my mother talk about Anna.  
_

Because Anna's too good for this.

"You know what this means, Elsa," the Queen says. Her hand is still held up, fingers curled. "We're going to have to practice your control."

Elsa knows what this means. Her eyes go blank, her emotions flatten into a thin, undefined line, and she drops the blanket from her body. She allows herself to be scooped up by her mother, and then, she's thrown on the bed.

* * *

Anna isn't accustomed to this new, strange noise coming from her sister's locked bedroom.

She smacks her lips, stretching her arms out. She's not surprised that she fell asleep. It's a bit of a routine for her to slumber in front of Elsa's door. She actually prefers it over her own room, which is in the lower chambers of the castle. It's dark and you can hear the stammering drunk sailors from outside in the port. But tonight's different. There was a_ noise_ from Elsa's room - and it had been loud enough to wake Anna up.

"That's strange," she mumbles. She tilts her head, squinting at the door.

_Slap._

There was a slap.

Anna's on her feet now. She runs to the door. She turns the doorknob, but it's locked. She doesn't know what's going on, and she doesn't know what to do, but she knows that it was Elsa who was slapped. She just knows.

She grabs her head, tears welling in her eyes. She's trying to think of who would dare ever hurt her sister. Nobody comes to mind. And then, with a gasp, she understands. She knows it's one of the guards. He's trying to take advantage of Elsa.

She doesn't hesitate. She breaks the door down by throwing herself on it with all of the strength she can summon. It's a hard task, and she nearly breaks her shoulder in the process, but she does it.

She's not prepared for the action taking place in the dark of her sister's bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Anna is standing in the doorway. She's just standing and staring.

On the bed, her mother's figure is hooded over and above her long lost sister, Elsa.

They are both naked, from what it appears. Her mom is grunting and breathing kind of heavily. There is a glint of sweat sticking over her bare backside where her spinal bones jut outward like a dinosaur in the blue moonlight from the window.

That's _not_ a guard. That's _not_ one of those perverted male monsters from the taverns near the borderland. That's her mother.

That is her mother.

Her mother's shuddering backside takes a sudden stop in motion. The Queen's neck croons backward so that she can view the source of noise that came from the door; and then, she meets eyes with Anna.

"Anna," she utters the word.

Disbelief clouds her expression. When Anna does not reply, the Queen repeats herself: "Anna." This time, it's more of a prompt, as if to say, do something. If you're going to scream, then scream. If you're going to ask what's going on, then ask. Do_ something._

But Anna is a gargoyle tonight and her lilting eyes won't leave her mother... or the pale ghost-like girl lying helplessly beneath her.

The Queen lifts herself off Elsa and grabs the blanket off the foot of the bed, wrapping it around her body. She begins to make her way over to Anna, and there's a feigned look of coolness plastered over her awry expression.

"Oh, Anna..." the Queen whispers, shaking her head. "You won't believe me when I tell you the truth of what your sister has done", - but her conniving voice is cut off by the disturbing, unnatural command of her eldest daughter still lying in the bed:

"Don't move," Elsa says. Her cold voice penetrates the air.

The Queen stops walking and, with an expression of pure disgust, turns around to view the platinum-blond. Her eyebrows furrow, and she hisses, "Don't speak to me, you despicable... _thing_. Look what you've done. I've got to explain everything to your innocent sister." As the Queen's attention turns back to Anna at the door, who is still standing, still staring, the air's looming temperature drops from mildly freezing down into a more bitter, skin-prickling icebox.

But Elsa, who's facial expression is far unlike her default look of pure detachment, rises from the bed, nude.

"I told you not to move, mother."

The Queen is so close to Anna. She can almost taste the excuse that's budding on her tongue. The blame she'd put on Elsa. But Elsa's got a negative energy emanating off herself unlike anything she's ever expressed before.

There's a flash of unprecedented fear exposed in the Queen's eyes. She knows what Elsa's capable of doing... But she wouldn't do that...

"Elsa, go back to bed," she says with a huff.

"No. I told you not to move."

The blonde nears closer, walking on wobbly legs because she's not used to walking, her eyes wide and creamily blue. She looks past the Queen's shoulder at Anna, stiff and stoic at the doorway. A trickle of saliva begins to slide off the strawberry-blonde's lower lip.

Elsa shakes her head wearily. "You're not going to speak to Anna," she addresses to the Queen.

The Queen's eyes droop with amusement. "_Ha._ And why is that?"

"Because... I won't let you. It's time for me to learn my control."

* * *

There's a flash of bright blue snow and ice churning throughout the room; but the explosion of flurries is silent and it doesn't wake the King in the room next door.

Now, the Queen's body is up against the wall, her feet hanging loose above the floor, monstrous icicles pierced directly through her palms and feet which are supporting her up on the wallpaper. A large ice spear is impaled through her chest, straight through her heart, and large gushes of blood pour out of her wounds and tap against the hardwood floor. A crown of snowflakes has fallen over her head.

But Elsa's not paying attention to her holocaust. Instead, she's embracing Anna, pressing her vulnerable, frail body directly against her violently trembling sister. An act of touch in which she thought she'd never get to do again.

"Oh, Anna," she whispers into a clump of redhair.

"_Elsa_," the redhead stutters through uncontrollable teeth. "Mom's-s is... I didn't k-k-know. I'm s-so sor-sorry."

"It's over now," Elsa assures her sister. She draws her face back so she can look into Anna's eyes. "It's just you and me, now."

Anna's mouth jars open and she erupts into inaudible sobs coming directly from her throat. Tears don't escape. They stay welled in her eyes, and the sounds of her throat are muffled when Elsa brings her face into her bare-skinned shoulder.

"We're going to get out of here," Elsa promises, rubbing a hand down her backside. "We'll get your things packed and leave before dawn."

And the last time they're in the same room with the Queen, she's dead and pinned against a wall.

The girls leave together and never look back.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for your patience. I am terribly sorry for the wait. As one of my reviewers mentioned, the content of this story has made it all very hard to write about. Like, it's incredibly unsettling and something I have been dreading to finish. And anyway, I got my entire leg amputated after complications that have ensued since a childhood accident. Plus my actual mother died from cancer last week. And my brother's one year anniversary from a drunk-driving motorcycle accident is approaching. So it's been a crazy month lol!


End file.
